Drabbles!
by pseudonymical
Summary: A bunch of drabbles, things I didn't finish writing, or things that were too short to justify a story.  Merely because someone said they wanted to see my roughs.  Contains/will contain EricAlan, Grelliam, and others.   See Author's Note for more info.
1. EricAlan Jealousy

AN: OK, as a continuation from the summary-Someone wanted to see my roughs and I haven't been putting out as many stories because I have so much homework, but I still do write short little things like this and I figure if someone wants to see them then why not? Each drabble will have a short description at the top, since my guess is that these will range in topic and characters, but they'll all be Kuro, I promise. I should have one out every couple of days/week or so, so if you want to read them on a regular basis you should put this on story alert because I'm just going to do these as chapters. :)

This one is EricAlan, as you can see, it's unfinished. A friend of mine wanted me to try writing Jealous!Alan so I did, but I think it's bad and I'm better at writing semes. XD

Read and review, tell me if this drabble thing is a stupid idea, tell me if you like this drabble or if I need to shove my computer somewhere computers should never be shoved. :)

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><p>Alan sat at his desk, his expression distinctly not happy. If asked why, his response would probably be somewhat along the lines of a flippant "I'm fine! What are you <em>talking<em> about?". He'd be lying, but unquestionably, that is what he would have said. The truth of it was that he'd seen Eric Slingby talking to someone on the common this morning. A girl. Of course that was no proof of anything, and he shouldn't even mistrust his lover about this, but...

Well, that girl had been quite pretty. And she'd _clearly_ liked Eric. That said, who wouldn't? Eric was handsome, he was funny, he was good company. Alan couldn't see a reason for that girl _not_ to be attracted to him. But Eric was _his_, and Alan refused to give him up to some-

_Let's not get too rude here. _ After all, Eric hadn't shown interest in her, had he? Had he? It was the uncertainty that was killing him. Alan had never considered himself handsome-he knew he had some decent features, but he wasn't anywhere near handsome. He had average features at best. Eric would always tell him differently, because he was kind of a sweetie, although he tended to use feminine adjectives. Alan didn't exactly approve of being called "beautiful". In any case, Alan had never really thought he was good-looking enough to match up with Eric, and his insecurity was showing its ugly head.

"Mr. Alan, what end of the alphabet are numbers filed on?" Ronald walked up to his desk, holding a paper. "It doesn't have a letter in the-oh, that's an S, not a 5."

"Having trouble reading, are we?" Eric said wryly as Ronald turned to go back to his own workspace. The younger blonde stuck out his tongue and headed off to the file room, his newly figured-out form in hand, which left Eric and Alan alone in the office. Eric was unbothered by this, of course, in fact, by the look in his eyes, he was rather happy about it. Alan was rather less pleased, due to his preoccupation about whoever that girl had been. He also had paperwork to do that would not get finished if Eric had his way.

His partner's chair creaked as its occupant stood up. _Oh, boy_. Eric walked around their desks to stand behind Alan, a hand stroking the soft hair on the nape of his neck. It was nice, really, but not appropriate for the workplace. As much as he hated to inform Eric of that...

"Eric, you're violating four office codes." He refused to look at the blonde. Seeing his face might just make Alan cave. And anyway, as irrational as it was, he was a bit annoyed at Eric. That girl was probably nothing. Probably. But there was just a tiny grain of doubt in Alan's mind, and it was eating him up.

"You sound like Will."

"Who would you rather say it? Me or Will? Because _I'm_ not following it up with overtime." Eric laughed, oblivious to Alan's thoughts. "I'm serious."

"Lighten _up_, sweetheart."

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><p>AN: And here is where it ends. This is what most of them would be like. What do you think? By the way, I'll also put who it's about and a short title in the chapter names. :)<p> 


	2. Grell and Ron Not Listening

AN: OK, I kind of like this one, but I don't know how to finish it so I left it here. It's platonic Ron and Grell, in which Ron puts up with all of Grell's shit. XD

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><p>"Ronald darling~" Grell danced into the office, holding a piece of paper and coming up to Ron's desk. "Will's given us a 'To Die' list!"<p>

"Have you gotten your scythe back from Mr. Spears?" Ron asked, glancing up.

"No, but I will soon enough! Let's go, come on!" Grell looked very excited, typical for him.

"Try not to destroy anything. I'd rather William didn't kill you both." Alan tossed in, not looking up from his paperwork.

"How sweet, little Alan!" Grell shot over to stand behind Alan and squeeze his shoulders. The brunette ignored him, used to his antics, but Grell released his grip after a glare from Eric. The tall man had not gotten used to Grell manhandling Alan, and it was likely he never would.

"I thought you wanted to go-" Grell was by Ron's side before the words finished. He grabbed Ron's arm and began to drag him towards the door, perhaps inspired by their supervisor's penchant for pulling _him_ around by the hair.

"See you later." Alan said, still not looking up. Ron heard Eric say something in his deeper voice, but he couldn't quite identify the words. Ron freed his arm from Grell's grip as they entered William's office.

"Wiiiill! I can have my scythe now?" Grell asked, laying himself down on William's desk. Thier boss frowned at the intrusion, but reached under the work surface to produce Grell's beloved chainsaw. "Ee! My baby!" Grell's voice cracked up a good octave in joy. Ron couldn't help but smile as the redhead grabbed for the chainsaw, hugging it as though it were actually a child. He looked funny, carefully avoiding the blades, which, although not spinning, were still deadly sharp. Even William had a hint of amusement on his usually impassive face.

"Now, Knox," William said, addressing Ron, who quickly stood to attention, "I entrust you with the responsibility of making sure this moron does not demolish yet another building. The incident reports are becoming tiresome." Ron nodded. "Good. Now, you're both dismissed." William looked back at his paperwork, the cue for his subordinates to leave.

"So, where's your scythe?" Grell asked as he and Ron walked down the hall.

"I put it in check after the last collection-I thought I might have damaged it, though now I'm pretty sure I was wrong." It was true-he'd actually run his death scythe over a rock, and it had made a terrible cracking noise, but in retrospect, the sound was probably the rock. Death scythes were near impossible to damage.

"Lovely! There's the most handsome man working in check~" Ron rolled his eyes. Grell was always bouyant, but he was almost unbearably energetic after he got his scythe back. As they headed down to the sycthe maintenance area, Ron idly ignored Grell's poeticizing about his "most handsome man"-who, it seemed, though not as "beautiful as my Sebas-chan", was "quite a catch".

"Hello, I've come to pick up my scythe?" He said to the lady at the desk, turning on his most brilliant smile. She was pretty, and she seemed to appreciate the grin, because she smiled back before asking his information. "Ronald Knox. I turned it in on Tuesday, suspected crack in the blade." Her fingers flew over the keys.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Knox. It's just come out of cleaning." She pointed to a room on the side. "We've just moved the pickup room, it's in there. Scythe 106, though it should be easy to spot, since it's a..." Her yellow-green eyes narrowed as she peered at the screen. "...lawnmower?" Ron grinned again.

"That's the one." He and Grell moved towards the indicated door. They stepped into a large room full of shining blades, all fresh from cleaning- axes, ice-picks, swords, and all other manner of sharp, pointy things. Ron even thought he saw a set of throwing stars, although what use those would be against a cinematic record, he had no idea. He could, true to the girl's words, pick his scythe out of all the others. Lawnmowers were fairly unique as a choice of death scythes, which always surprised him. It was so _useful_ for him. As he walked towards his scythe, with a nod towards the attendant, he heard a squeal from behind him. Clearly, the man he'd just nodded at was Grell's "handsome man". The look on the attendant's face turned to horror as the redhead threw himself in his direction, chainsaw and all.

_Poor bloke_, thought Ron,_ that's going to hurt_. He laid a hand on the handle of his scythe, pulling off the slip of paper tacked to the mower. The report on the check-sure enough, the blade had been fine. They'd noticed a scratch or two in the paint, though, which they'd apparently had to redo in a different shade, having run out of the old one. He couldn't see the difference, honestly, but the person who'd written the report seemed almost skittish in his note. He rolled the lawnmower towards the door, stopping long enough to remove an exuberant Grell from the object of his affections. The attendant looked profoundly thankful, bleeding from what appeared to be several dozen chainsaw scratches. None of the wounds looked serious, but Ron had a feeling that if this guy was anything like any of Grell's previous men, the flamboyant Reaper was about to accrue another restriction.

"You know, Miss Grell, some day you're going to break one of those guys." He remarked, grinning, as Grell cooed happily on the way out of the building.

"It's all right. They're so much sweeter broken." He strode on, not noticing Ron's shudder over the creepiness of those words. Brilliant at fighting, Grell might be, if a little scatter-brained, but when he went off on those sinister little tangents, it was hard to respect him in a way that didn't involve slight fear.

"So, that one?" Grell examined the picture in the list closely before looking down at the mousy woman. He frowned, his lip sticking out a little.

"Yeah. In..." Ron checked his watch, "four and a half minutes."

"Ugh, she's so _plain_." The redhead whined. "I mean, look, she's got nice hair-although the color's a bit dull-and what does she do with it? She pulls it back like _that_. It's hideous! And she's not even wearing any makeup." His hand twitched, as though he would swoop down and do her hair and makeup himself. Ron suppressed a laugh.

"We can't always kill supermodels." He pointed out, still fighting to keep a straight face at Grell's preoccupation.

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><p>AN: What do you think, is this drabble thing working?<p> 


	3. EricAlan One Week

AN: I'm not even sure anymore. XD Yep, this is one clearly not finished EricAlan drabble in which I wanted to write LonelyEric. XD I did not do so hot and had no idea how to finish the story. So, here you have it.  
>Summary: Alan has to leave for a week, Eric is lonely, it's pretty simple, bro.<p>

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><p>"See you, Eric!" Alan's cheery smile and wave made it just a little harder. "Love you!" He disappeared into the depths of the carriage. One week. One week, Alan would be gone on this ridiculous trip. Damn the fact that he was one of the only two people in the Dispatch Center who spoke the language of whatever ridiculous far off place in the butt end of nowhere that they were sending him to. Eric wasn't even sure where he was going, exactly. Alan had told him once or twice, but he couldn't pronounce the name of the place, let alone the name of the language. It was some obscure country near Scandinavia, god knew how Alan knew the language, but what it meant was that Alan was being sent, with some Reaper in another division, to someplace that Eric <em>wouldn't<em> be.

Not that Eric wanted to go to... wherever the hell it was... but he did want Alan, and Alan was going there. One week. God, how was he going to survive? Eric had been a relative bachelor for who knows how many years before he met Alan, with short breaks when he'd had someone. He knew how to fend for himself, it wasn't as though he needed someone there to...

Who was he kidding? It wasn't Alan's dubious homekeeping skills that he would miss, it would be Alan himself. But it wasn't as though he needed him, he would miss him, but it was only one week. He'd do fine. Eric watched the carriage vanished into the night, bearing his lover with it. One week. Thank god the Dispatch Center had faster ways of transporting its members to wherever it sent them than the rest of the world, or Alan would be gone for longer than a week. He turned and walked back into the building that contained his flat. He and Alan maintained separate lodgings, which seemed pointless to Eric, because they always seemed to end up in the same place anyway. Alan had packed things from his place, then headed over to Eric's to pick up things that were there. At this point, their belongings were spread, seemingly evenly, over both their flats.

Which, Eric thought, might not be such a good thing, because it meant he'd be spending the week alone with a bunch of Alan's effects. It wouldn't help his missing the younger man to have things lying around that smelled like Alan or reminded him somehow of his partner. He climbed the stairs to the tiny apartment and turned the doorknob.

"Bloody door..." He cursed. The wood had expanded in the heat, he supposed, the door had been sticking for weeks. He braced his arm against the door and slammed his torso against it. The door crashed open, making a noise that would have made Alan jump, had he been sitting on the couch as he should be. _I should probably fix that door..._ Eric thought to himself as he closed the reluctant door behind him and flopped down on the couch. He wasn't hungry, really, although Alan would have made him eat something. According to the clock on the bedside, it was only 6:30, but he was feeling unaccountably tired, perhaps a result of all his late nights, sneaking around, collecting souls that Alan would never know about. He could rest this one night, he wouldn't have to worry about getting home in time to pretend he'd never left, so he could make up the difference later in the week.

He groaned. Spears would want him in to work as usual the next day, despite the fact that his partner was absent. He'd probably end up spending the week dragging Ron about. _Joy._ When Alan was here, he'd wake up in time to go to work, and wake Eric up with him. Now, he'd have to get up on his own. He'd have to sleep on his own as well, which depressed him even more.


	4. EricAlan Hospital

AN: I don't normally TOTALLY fuck the timeline, but I did. LOL. The basic point of this one was to kill off Alan, but in a way that wasn't like, "sudden death holy shit no one expected THAT", more like…well, read the drabble. XD I gave Alan quite a bit of dark humor, and I wasn't sure if that was "in character" but hey, whatever. I already killed off the timeline and Alan's death from the musical, so…

"Mr. Slingby." The words from the other side of the room comes. Eric snaps to attention, recognizing the tone. Alan's doctor. He's panting from exertion.

"Yeah?" He replies, dreading the answer.

"It's time." Eric's heart lurches. He stands up, quickly. Moves jerkily towards the door and the doctor. He walks fast, leading the way with the exhausted doctor trailing him. He knows where Alan's room is-there's only a couple of "hospital rooms" at the Dispatch Center. After all, Reapers don't get hurt very often. Also, he's kind of been spending every moment he isn't working or sleeping in there. Actually, he's ended up sleeping in Alan's room a few times.

"H-how is he?" Eric asks the doctor, whose name he can't bring to his mind, no matter how he tries. He hates himself for the crack in his voice. He's got to get that under control before he sees Alan. Can't do that around him.

"Well, not... good, obviously. But he's in a lull right now, or he was when I left. He wasn't coughing. He'll probably have another coughing fit and another lull, then he might go to sleep, but... well... asleep or awake..."

"He's dying."

"You know that." The doctor pauses. "If it's any consolation, I suspect it'll be quiet, after the coughing fit. Even if he's awake. I don't think there'll be terribly much pain."

"Yeah. Does he-know?"

"_He_ told _me_." They round the corner to the corridor Alan's room branches off of. It smells of some kind of cleaning fluid, soap and sterility, but it doesn't quite cover the smell of blood. Not from Alan's room, certainly. There are other smells, none of them pleasant, but Eric doesn't care especially much. He's got an awful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that isn't caused by any smell.

"Alan?" He says, sticking his head into the room he's spent rather a lot of time in the last week and a half Alan's been hospitalized. The last time he saw Alan was this morning, but he looks different, somehow.

Alan used to be beautiful, and Eric swears sometimes he can still see it, but right now, he's far from lovely. Sick, sallow skin seems to barely cover delicate bones, offering a pinched, birdlike look, as though he would break if touched. Alan's lost so much weight just in the last week, he seems a little hunched, rolled in on himself, and the dark swirling scars covering his body stand out in garish prominence. He looked that way this morning, but there is a shift, and not for the better. It's a deadly difference.

"Eric!" Alan answers as Eric enters the room, the eyes, though sunken, light up, and they're the only pretty thing in this picture. "You came." Eric smiles, though it pains him, walks up to the bedside, sits down.

"Of course I came, sweetheart. We-we talked about this."

"Practically over your dead body." Alan grumbles, then lets out a weak laugh at his own poor choice of words.

"So, how's it... I mean, do you feel OK? Does it hurt?"

"No, it doesn't hurt right now. I don't feel really great, though, either." Alan reaches out a hand for him, and maybe if Eric was any less than the man he is, he would have been disgusted by the feel of the appendage, because it doesn't really feel like a hand, it's too light and bony. He grips it-not hard, because he fears it breaking. "How're you holding up?"

"Can we shut up about how _I'm_ holding up?" Eric says, his voice lacking the sarcastic, joking tone it might have had any other day. "Are you sure that... it's time?" He re-uses the doctor's words form earlier, at the same time noticing that, tastefully, the man has chosen not to enter the room.

"Yes." Alan seems too relaxed for this. He shouldn't be relaxed. Eric's heart is squeezing, and he's fighting to keep his eyes dry and his manner normal, all for Alan. Deep down, he knows Alan's expected this for months, and that he's accepted it, but... it still seems wrong to be so calm. "Don't ask how, I just know."

Eric hopes he's wrong.

They sit in silence for a moment. Eric's eyes run slowly over the spiked curls of the Thorns' scars. "Wickedly beautiful", Alan once termed them, and Eric tends to agree. When Eric found out about the disease, the scars were on one arm, edging on Alan's wrist and his shoulder. Now they cover most of his body, twisting across his hands and his neck and even a tendril creeping behind one ear. There's one spot they haven't reached, a square inch of skin that Eric knows is directly over Alan's heart. Alan'd developed a habit, before he landed here, of rubbing that spot idly when he was nervous.

"Eric?" Alan says quietly.

"Mm?"

"How in the world did you manage to pick me?" The corner of the thin mouth pulls up in a wry, morbid smile. "Out of everybody, you get the dying one." Eric sighs.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me, sweetheart."

"If you use that line on all your girls, it's no wonder you were single when I snatched you up." If Alan didn't look as though he would shatter if Eric so much as blew on him, Eric would have smacked him. Lightly.

"I'm serious."

"Well, it sounds a lot like a line." Alan ends that with a cough. Eric's pulse jumps. "Don't worry so much, Eric." Eric lets out a harsh laugh and Alan glares at him. "If you get bitter on me, I swear I'll kick you out of this room, Eric." This wasn't right. They weren't supposed to be fighting.

"Sorry. Do you want me to get you anything? Glass of water?"

"How about an extra couple years?" Alan jokes, cracking a smile. His dry lips bleed a little. Eric winces, both at the joke and because it looks painful.


	5. Grelliam Notes

AN: Merry Christmas everybody! Anyway, this was going to be Grelliam, and it's basically because I was mad when I wrote it and wanted to take it out on the Kuro boys. XD Grell and Eric get into a fight, Will drags Grell off to calm down, but Grell is intent on getting back to rip Eric's face off. xD I just didn't know how to finish this one... so I didn't.

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><p>William smiled. He wouldn't, if anyone were around to see him. After all, it would be quite embarrassing if anyone were to witness a display of this kind. He read Grell's note again-written in bright red ink(typical) at the bottom of his paper(which William would have to correct later). Grell was forever writing him these little messages, which he had learned to read when he was alone-sometimes because of explicit content, sometimes because they gave him an almost uncontrollable urge to smile, or laugh. Which, would, of course, not do.<p>

A loud bang issued from the shared office of the others. The supervisor shot upright clumsily, surprised by the noise, and, throwing the paper down on the desk, hurried into the room. _What've those idiots done now?_ He entered the office to see Eric and Grell, both looking angry, going head-to-head. Grell was practically spitting with rage, and Eric had a murderously derisive smile, which was made only the creepier by the the terrified expressions of Alan and Ron, who appeared to have given up on breaking up the impending office fight and were figuratively cowering in their respective corners.

"Eric Slingby, I will-" Grell shrieked, his eyes blazing. His sentence would have gone on, probably to detail the hideously gory things he would inflict on Eric's body, but William decided that it was probably better that they didn't actually go at each other. He was at the Grell's back in a flash, twisting his arm painfully against his red-cloaked back.

Any warm feelings he might have harbored towards his subordinate after that rather sweet note had disappeared, as Grell turned in his grip-ignoring the pain that should have been shooting through his arm, which must have been tremendous. Baring knifelike teeth, he struggled wildly. Eric must have said something very insulting to provoke this, though William was in sure Grell, in some way, had started it. The blonde stood tall in front of them, Grell pulling hard to get at him.

"Ooh, you'll what now? Will's come to save his little sweetie, you won't do jack shit!" Eric wasn't even holding his scythe-probably a bad idea with Grell in this mood. Speaking of which, William was intensely curious to know what would induce this savage anger. Grell screamed wordlessly in response to Eric's mocking words-clearly Alan's partner was angry as well, though what would cause him to have that positively homicidal look on his face was beyond William. Well, now of course he needed to know, and he'd ask Ronald or Alan later, but at the moment, he had to deal with the problem at hand. Which would be the problem _in_ his hands-Grell.

"Humphries, keep him here." He ordered Alan, who jumped to his feet and over to Eric. "Slingby, I'll deal with you later." He kept his arms locked around Grell, who continued to kick and fight him, and veritably carried him bodily over the threshold of the office and down the hallway. There was an empty conference room near here, wasn't there? The redhead could cool down there, although keeping him in place would be a job. He wished he'd had the presence of mind to bring his scythe along with him-as Grell was unarmed, that would be helpful-but he hadn't, and all he really had going for him against his partner was brute strength. And intelligence, something he, at the moment, doubted severely the other man possessed.

He managed to get Grell to the room, trying valiantly to ignore the odd stares and whispers of "that's Grell Sutcliff-the poor bloke carrying him's in for a beating" as they went. Kicking open the door took some concentration, something he couldn't spare much of considering the squirming redhead in his arms. Turning a handle with your foot was no small feat-pun not intended-when one was in possession of one very, very cheesed transvestite.

He managed it-though it took slightly longer than he was comfortable with, with all these people staring-and threw Grell bodily into a chair inside. Immediately Grell bounded out of the chair and back towards the door-or William, perhaps, as he was standing in front of the door, it was rather hard to tell what Grell was attacking. With one hand, he closed the door and turned the key, which had been left in the lock, pulling it out. With the other, he fended off Grell, who was using his long nails to their best advantage. William was certain that his jacket was going to be ruined by all of the slashing going on in its vicinity.

"Sutcliff, sit _still_." He said, stowing the key-thankfully not on a ring-in his breast pocket. He turned the door handle experimentally. Convinced that it was locked, he returned his full attention to Grell, who was panting and ever so slightly flushed with anger.

"I will bloody well _not_ sit still, I'm going to _murder_ that _wanker_-" Grell tried to push past William again. The taller man caught him by the shoulder and shoved him back. "Will, if I have to break your pretty face to get past you I will, I swear it-" William shoved him back again, with enough force to send him spinning into the chair, which stood unoccupied.

"Sutcliff, if you do not calm down, _now_, I will be forced to give you a week's hours of overtime." Grell looked utterly unterrified by the threat, getting up again. William was fairly certain that he could continue to fend Grell off, for as long as it took for his partner to calm down, mostly because the redhead wasn't in possession of his chainsaw.

"Fuck overtime, I need to_ fucking rip Eric's head off!_" Grell's voice rose to a shriek, and William was about 90% certain he wasn't joking. As Grell dove at him again, William almost wearily knocked him aside again. Anger was making Grell careless, leaving holes in his offense, which made him incredibly easy to take down.

"_Grell_, I said: Calm. Down." William said, venom in his voice. At the sound of his first name, Grell seemed to snap out of it a little, still mad but not positively insane, at least momentarily. "Even if you get past me, I've locked the door. You may as well sit down, you're not leaving any time soon." _ Provided, of course, that you don't just knock me out and search me for the key. Or just kick down the door._

Grell let out a stream of curses at the prospect of a locked door. During his preoccupation, Will surreptitiously dropped the key into a wilting plant in the middle of the table in the room they were sitting in, hoping that this way, any bodily search Grell would make for the key would prove fruitless.

"Now, are you going to calm down and tell me why you were about to make me short an employee?" William had no question that Grell would win that fight-not that Eric was weak, but the redhead had both more combat training, and the lack of any inhibition or fear, both of which worked in his favor.

Grell nodded, and William relaxed his stance a little-a mistake. Grell's foot struck at his knee, making contact. His legs crumpled under him, and with an exclamation of shock, he found himself on the floor. He felt a hand on his face, and then the world was very, very blurry. Grell had taken his glasses, and this meant war-at least if William could figure out where the hell his partner was.

"Now, are you going to give me the fucking key?" Grell said, mocking him. His voice was coming from the... left, but William knew, from having enough glasses-less fights with Grell, that his partner was smart enough to move once he'd spoken and given away his position. Curse the Dispatch Association for giving this room red wallpaper, which William had noticed but not cared about-until now. Now the red of the walls, blurred horribly in his vision, hid the murderous Reaper. He couldn't see a bloody thing!


End file.
